Yes, Amelia, There is a Doctor
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: "DEAR EDITOR: I am eight years old. I have this friend who calls himself the Doctor, but my parents and a lot of the kids at school say he's only imaginary. But my one friend told me I ought to ask the paper because they're supposed to know everything, and that means they'll know if the Doctor's real. So don't lie: Is there a Raggedy Man? Is there a Doctor?" A semi-Christmas fic.


**Ok so, slight departure from the norm, but I wanted to do a little something for Christmas and then this idea popped into my head. I don't know if it's been tried before, but this is my take on it, and I'll let you decide how it went. Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays, and enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Yes, Amelia, There is a Doctor**

_1997_

"Go away, Jeff!" Little eight year-old Amelia Pond pushed at the taller boy, then raced away down the pavement through the village of Leadworth, hot tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. She only stopped once to aim a vicious kick at the brand new shed in the backyard, and then, hopping on one foot while she rubbed the stubbed toes, she plopped down on the swing.

"A- Amelia!" Rory gasped out between huge breaths. He'd followed, obviously, and was now standing next to her with his hands braced on his knees, clouds of steam rising from his mouth with each gulp of cold air. "Why…did you…push Jeff? Loads of kids say…that Father Christmas isn't real."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "I don't care about that, stupid." Not really, anyway. After all, she didn't need people making fun of her for still asking Santa for things. They already thought her weird enough. "But he- he said the Doctor wasn't real either."

Rory straightened up at that. "Oh." She shot him a look and he took a step back. "Well, he- he doesn't know everything, right? I mean, maybe Jeff's wrong—"

"Of course he's wrong! _I'm_ your best friend, Rory," she reminded. He nodded.

"Right. Yes. Course you are. So, er, why did it still bother you, what Jeff said?"

Amelia sighed. Looking around the lawn, or even inside her house, all traces of the strange Raggedy Man's visit that last Easter were gone, excluding her many drawings and other crafts. The shed had been replaced, her parents absolutely refused to buy fish fingers or custard anymore—a suggestion by the latest psychiatrist—and she wasn't even allowed to keep her suitcase with her. The grownups seemed to think it would give her dangerous ideas or something.

"I just need some proof, Rory," she muttered. "Not for them, for me. I waited, so why isn't he coming back?" Her friend shrugged helplessly, and she huffed in annoyance. "Oh, never mind. You wouldn't know where to look for proof anyway."

"No, I- I wouldn't…" Rory agreed quietly. He looked back up after a moment and said, "But my dad reads the papers a lot. They're supposed to be good at finding proof for anything! Maybe one of them would know."

Amelia thought about it. "Hey, that's not a bad idea." She stood and turned to go into her house.

"Er, what are you going to do?" Rory hastened to follow.

"Ask them."

OoO

The next day, when school let out for the Christmas hols, Amelia didn't go straight to her psychiatrist for her appointment like she was supposed to. Instead, she went to the biggest building in all of Leadworth: the post office.

"You're not seriously going to mail that, are you?" Mels asked, walking heel to toe on a stone wall running parallel to the pavement. Rory jogged along on Amelia's other side to keep up with the two girls' quick pace.

"Why not?" Amelia returned brusquely, turning up her nose imperiously, though the effect was slightly ruined by the pink tint to it from the chilled air. She knew Mels was just trying to see if she was chicken; she wasn't really making fun.

"Why would any of the stupid grownups know anything about a funny time traveler? Your parents don't believe you, or anybody besides me and Rory."

"It won't hurt to check," she replied, just as much to Mels as to herself. If she didn't receive an answer, or worse if the answer was no, then she'd feel rather foolish. But she was determined not to let that upset her. She didn't need this. She didn't.

"There's the mailbox," Rory pointed out helpfully, and Amelia stepped up to it, withdrawing the letter she'd written and addressed all by herself. She slipped it through the slot and they all watched and listened as it fell down and hit bottom with a light _thunk_. "Think it'll get there before Christmas?"

"I don't know," she answered, giving as casual a shrug as she could manage. No Christmas present in the world would compare to some sort of proof or acknowledgement of her questions: where was the Raggedy Man, and when was he coming back?

Now, however, she had to get to her appointment before the psychiatrist tattled on her. Again.

OoO

Greg Benson was sitting at his desk in the office going through this week's letters to the editor. It was his job to pick a select few for the paper to respond to, and he was almost done. It could be a rather entertaining job at times; often, the people writing in sounded more than a little off somehow—but this doozy? It took the cake.

_DEAR EDITOR: I am eight years old. I have this friend who calls himself the Doctor, but my parents and a lot of the kids at school say he's only imaginary. But my one friend told me I ought to ask the paper because they're supposed to know everything, and that means they'll know if the Doctor's real. So don't lie: Is there a Raggedy Man? Is there a Doctor?_

_AMELIA JESSICA POND, LEADWORTH_

Chuckling to himself, Greg reached for his phone and dialed an old contact.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Benson here. Listen, I've got this funny letter here for the paper, written by some kid. The whole thing makes no bloody sense and I can hardly put it in, but I thought you might like to see it."

"Is that so? Alright, I'll be home all afternoon, I've got an article to write. Bring it round sometime."

"Certainly," he glanced at his schedule to find a good time. "What's the house number again, I've forgotten."

"Number thirteen." He could hear the smile in her voice and knew she was shaking her head at him. Oh yes, he was more than happy for any excuse to go see the beautiful journalist.

OoO

"I'm home, K-9!" Sarah Jane called, arms laden down with the groceries. It was Christmas Eve and she hadn't any plans. She didn't really mind, though. Most all of her friends had family of some sort that they were spending the night with. Well, she had a dog. Sort of.

"Mistress!" The robot animal called from upstairs. She'd left him up there that morning—it was incredibly hard work lugging him up and down every time, and unfortunately he seemed incapable of doing it himself anymore, but she couldn't exactly get that looked at.

Once she had everything put away, Sarah Jane hurried up to properly greet her pet. "I'm back for the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow we can go for a walk after breakfast, it's far too cold now and—hang on." She'd looked to her relatively new computer for a second, only to find that it was up and running. She was sure she'd turned it off that morning before leaving.

What was more, a rather silly little article—using the term generously—was pulled up. After Greg had brought that letter from the little girl, Sarah Jane had been unable to sleep. What did it mean? Was it possible that he—

Having nothing to do except speculate, Sarah had done what she'd always done best: write. It had been something of a reply, though it had been intended for her eyes only. At least she'd thought.

"K-9, you didn't do this, did you?" She wanted to at least make sure. He was an unusual dog, after all.

"No, mistress," her pet answered.

"Then who did?"

There was a pause. "Data unavailable."

Sarah Jane placed her hands on her hips. "You were up here all day. Now when you say 'data unavailable' that usually means you either can't or _won't_ say. Now which is it?"

There was another pause, before he rolled back a couple inches and lowered his head. She had her answer.

Instead of the scolding the robot dog clearly expected receive, she knelt down and pet him on the head. K-9 looked up to see his mistress genuinely smiling for the first time in quite a while. "Merry Christmas, K-9."

OoO

Amelia's parents had gone to a stupid grownup party in the village, leaving her alone that Christmas Eve. Well, not entirely alone; they'd allowed Mels to sleep over after all, so it wasn't all bad. They were going to sit up all night and watch for Father Christmas, and even better, Mels had managed to smuggle a bowl of fish fingers and custard in her overnight bag.

"It's all about the right bait," the other girl had said with a decisive nod.

But it seemed that had been some time ago, for when Amelia suddenly opened her eyes, it was to a darkened room. She was in her bed and tucked snugly under the covers with Mels, who was hugging one of her Raggedy Doctor dolls to her chest as she slept on.

Amelia, however, was now wide awake. They had been downstairs last she remembered before nodding off, and she couldn't hear her father's snores, which meant her parents weren't yet home. So how had they gotten up here?

Grabbing her little red sweater to pull on over her nightie, Amelia crept downstairs. There was only one light on; the lamp on the side table in the living room where they'd placed the bowl of fish fingers and custard. When she peeked inside, she discovered immediately that the bowl was empty. And propped up against it was a piece of paper. A letter, for her.

_AMELIA, the kids at your school and your parents, even, are wrong. Simply because they themselves have never met the Doctor, they have chosen to deem him imaginary. They think that because they have never seen or heard or known anything like him, that he cannot possibly be real. But there is so much out there in the universe that they can never hope to see, hear, or know._

_Yes, AMELIA, there is a Doctor. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion, which are just as intangibly real, and as surely as scarves and jelly babies and funny old cars, which are tangibly fanciful. And these things, tangible and intangible, give life beauty and joy. How terrible things would be if there were no Doctor! It would be as terrible as if there were no AMELIAs. Because to the Doctor, AMELIAs are just as beautiful and joyful as the whole universe, and without them there would be no childlike faith or enjoyment or wonder._

_Not believe in the Doctor! You might as well not believe in stars or the universe! Your schoolmates and parents might look for him everywhere every day and night, but even if they never saw him, what would that prove? Nobody ever finds the Doctor, he finds those that are needed; good, caring people, who can't ever conceive or imagine all the wonders out there in the universe, but want to try._

_You may travel the world and look on every mountain or in every valley, but there is a veil covering the rest of the whole, wide universe that only the Doctor, and the faith, love, and hope he inspires can push aside. With his help, you can view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? AMELIA, there is nothing else as real and abiding._

_No Doctor! Thank God! he lives, in every time and place. A thousand years or ten, before now and after, he will continue to make glad the hearts of childhood, and the universe._

Amelia sat there, reading and rereading that letter. Could someone have really answered, and were they right? She hoped so, and that the Raggedy Doctor would be coming back to _this_ time and place very soon.

The next morning, she was not surprised to find the letter gone when she woke, nor to find herself tucked back under the covers of her bed once again. If she concentrated long enough or wished it enough, too, she could remember a pair of strong arms carrying her and lips pressed to her forehead.

Everyone else could tell her it was her imagination. But Amelia knew it was faith, love, and hope. And those things were real.

**So yeah, random? I don't know, I had fun with it. A lot of the two letters were inspired and some phrases or words were taken from the famous "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus" exchange between a little girl and **_**The New York Sun**_**, so all credit due there, as well as the Doctor Who characters to whoever all owns Doctor Who. **

**As for the Doctor's possible involvement in this story, I'll leave that up to your interpretation. Somehow Sarah Jane's theoretical reply was printed from her computer and ended up in Leadworth…**

**And I know poor Sarah thought the Doctor was dead by the time "School Reunion" happened, but that's almost ten years after this story, so I feel she could probably convince herself he really was gone by then. Same for Amy in 2008. Good thing they were both wrong.**

**This is just something of a present for you all. I hope you liked it, and enjoy your holiday! Thanks for reading, and please review!**


End file.
